


Body in Aisle Nine

by crowmunchies



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Murder Family, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, Will Graham Finds Out, Will Graham is a Mess, attempt at symbolism, cajun will and his slavic munchkins, every chapter is one of the authors safe foods :), fic is subject to spontaneous editing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowmunchies/pseuds/crowmunchies
Summary: What if Will Graham had a child? What if Hannibal Lecter was slightly less dramatic?
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs & Original Character(s), Hannibal Lecter & Original Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Original Character(s), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 30
Kudos: 252





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi idk why you’re reading this but welcome to the party. *hands you a little wooden friend*

Hannibal Lecter kills Addison Coleman at dusk, at the edge of an empty lot in rural Virginia. Mrs. Coleman had worked in real estate for twenty years, and she had been trying to sell Hannibal’s home for the past three of them. 

Her car had been brand new, a sleek black BMW. The interior of it still smells of sweat, and an overly perfume-filled deodorant. He can tell just by looking into the dirty back seat that the choice of vehicle was less about taste and more about making her neighbors jealous. 

Hannibal brushes some of her blood-stained highlights off of her shoulders, and steps back to admire his work. The kidneys, liver, and intestines had been removed carefully, packed into his cooler, and the presentation of her was as superb as one could make it in such a small window of time. Yes, not a hair out of place. He smiles. 

-

Hannibal begins his drive home, down a road that hasn’t been paved over in decades. He begins by listening to  _ Swan Lake. It has been too long since he’s seen a ballet performance, and tonight he is feeling nostalgic. Mrs. Coleman truly had an uncanny resemblance to a dinner he had prepared many years ago.  _

__

__

_ Hannibal Lecter doesn’t tend to make mistakes. But he is pulled from his musings by a  _ thunk, a  _ short yell and a fuzzy silhouette sliding up past his windscreen- a heavy  _ thump _ from the roof of his car _ He pulls over. 

Hannibal Lecter has hit someone with his car. He feels inconvenienced, and frankly annoyed. He was only going 17 miles per hour, so it shouldn’t have been hard for the person to spot him. His headlights were perfectly bright. It’s likely they have a broken bone or two, perhaps he shall endeavor to- 

But he stops thinking for a moment. By now he has slipped out of his Bentley.

There is a child on the roof of his car. A child who looks annoyed and inconvenienced, judging by their scowl. They lay on their stomach, tightly gripping the tops of the doors with grubby fingers. Their chest is heaving with effort. Hannibal was expecting to see at best, probably a homeless man, at worst, a backpacker with a YouTube channel. 

They don’t appear to have any injuries that could not be from getting hit by a car head on, so he rules out abuse. Still, they could be a runaway. Their eyes are screwed shut. Perhaps they are blind. 

“Hello,” Hannibal says, “ Are you hurt?” 

“Nothing too bad, thank you.” Their voice isn’t high pitched, but it’s prepubescent, unique, and  _ dripping  _ with sarcasm. 

“Can you move?” 

They open their eyes, brown like a fawn’s, and narrow them imperceptibly. “Yes,”  _ not blind then, _

They allow themselves to slide, backwards, and spring off of the hood, “ So don’t get any ideas.” 

Hannibal blinks. There’s a sizable gash on their lower left cheek. It is likely to scar. “Just a moment,” he retrieves his first-aid kit from the glovebox, and hands them a bandage and a little medical wipe. They look surprised. 

“What’re you doing out here?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” he says, and gently takes the bandage back from their shaking hands to open it. He notes the smell of black pine and dog hair about them, and a twinge of fear, “ Do you want me to take you to a hospital?” 

“No, definitely no-”

“Alright, what would you like to do?” He applies the bandage efficiently, so they only look mildly uncomfortable. 

“I wanna go home,” they step back against his headlights. The silhouette has come into focus. “So, thanks for hitting me with your fancy car, Mr...”

“Doctor Hannibal Lecter.” 

“Yeah, thanks Doc, but I’m just gonna go home now.” Their voice is becoming uneven, and they bring up their jacket sleeve to sniffle. 

“Do you live nearby?”

“I’m not gonna tell you.” 

Hannibal pauses. Counts to ten. They are only a child. They are likely going to collapse in the woods if he leaves them to go home alone. They could die. 

“If you let me drive you home, I will give you my knife.” Hannibal decides. 

Their gaze meets his, surprised, and then quickly returns to his shoes. “Ok. Give me the knife,” their hands fidget oddly at their sides, “and you only have one?” 

“Yes,” He nods, and of course it’s a lie, but he is feeling merciful, and has already decided not to harm them-

“May I ask for your name?” He hands them the knife. 

They flex their hands around the handle, and twitch their head. “You may not. I live in Wolftrap, so just keep going straight.” 

The car ride takes about ten minutes. 

“Why were you crouched in the road?” He asks. He can see them, tense and gripping the knife on their lap in the backseat. They are wearing a long, Christmas-themed nightgown, complete with candy canes and snowmen. Over that is a old coat that’s entirely too big for them. 

They hesitate. “I was looking for my dog.” It’s not a lie. 

“Is your dog lost?” 

“He ran off into the woods when I let him out tonight. Sometimes he gets excited when he sees rodents and stuff.” 

“And you pursued him?” 

“I tried to. I thought I saw his collar in the road but it was only a quarter. And you hit me with your car.” They sniff. 

“I am sorry.” Hannibal says, and tries not to think about how dirty their shoes are going to get his backseat. 

At the six minute mark, the road evens out from dusty asphalt to gravelly dirt, and then mud.

“You know, my Dad might try and sue you,”

“I am aware,” 

They pick at their sleeve. In the rear view mirror, Hannibal can see that their white-knuckled grip on the knife has ceased, fingers loosely holding the handle, and their eyes are already drooping. “Here, check yourself over for any more wounds.” he passes them the first-aid kit. 

For four minutes he weaves through farm roads and thickets, and when they tell him to pull over he does, in front of a large, largely unmanicured lawn. A white cabin with a porch sits at its edge, the lights are on. 

The child doesn’t move. The doors are unlocked. 

“Kolya.”

“Pardon?” 

“My name is Kolya.” 

Hannibal glances behind. They look almost embarrassed. “That’s a nice name. Kolya is a Russian name- are you Russian?” 

“Um. On my Mom’s side. My Dad picked it though.” 

“Lovely. The doors are unlocked.” 

They blink. Then, his car door is being slammed shut, and they are running up the field, not glancing behind until they are on the front porch, wheezing and knocking on the door. Hannibal has made his way up to the stairs behind them. He waits intently. 

A man in similarly out of season pajama pants to Kolya’s gown swings the door open. 

“Dad!” 

A pack of yapping dogs stream out from behind him. 

“Buster! Good boy!” Kolya exclaims, kneeling down to pet the littlest dog, ( presumably Buster, presumably the one who ran away.) The man drops to his knees, and gathers Kolya into his arms, Buster forgotten. “ I’ve got you, pumpkin.” 

The man notices Hannibal quickly. His eyes are shockingly blue and glaring at him from Kolya’s shoulder. Hannibal’s breath is stolen. He could compare this face to Cabanel’s fallen Angel, for his eyes are red-rimmed and all of his anger, fear, and worry is currently directed at Hannibal.   
  
It is a very beautiful face. 

The man stands, Kolya’s face still buried in his shoulder. One of his hands is petting their hair, (which is so like his own, a rich dark brown,) and keeps his other hand firmly on his rifle. “Who the hell are you?” 

This family certainly has a penchant for good manners. Hannibal opens his mouth, but Kolya mumbles into the man’s shoulder; “Don’t be mad at him, Dad. A drunk teenager hit me with his car and he helped me,” 

Hannibal masks his surprise with practiced ease. Still. This night brings perhaps the most intrigue he’s felt in years. It feels like something in his chest cavity is pacing, something that’s been asleep for far too long. 

The man’s glare simmers down into a careful frown, and his eyes travel to his child’s head and soften some. 

“Thank you for bringing Kolya home,” he says, and after a moment, puts the gun down and sticks his hand out, “ Will Graham.” 

“Hannibal Lecter. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” They shake hands. 

The man squints a bit at Hannibal’s face, eyes trained on his right cheek. Like his child, then. Mr.Graham’s gaze lingers there for a second too long, and Hannibal feels like adept fingers are pulling at the stitches of his person suit.

“Sure,” Will Graham decides, “I can put on a pot of coffee.” A statement, not a question. No “  _ if you’d like?”  _ Implied. Hannibal hides a smile. It’s a near thing, and that surprises him. He thinks he quite likes these kinds of surprises.

“I’m afraid I must be going. Good Night Kolya, Mr. Graham.” He nods, and hesitates for a fraction of a second on the bottom step.

“Good night,” Kolya says. Their father is behind them still, hands on their shoulders, and Kolya winks at him so Mr. Graham cannot see. Hannibal makes his way back to the Bentley, and does not turn around. “Thank you, Doctor!” 

Will Graham stands on the porch. He furrows his brow. And he begins to worry. 


	2. Birthday Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kolya’s experiences come from my own of being a transmasc/enby and neurodivergent person

Twelve was a horrible age. The child had decided it. 

Media had told the child that, when you turned eleven, you were supposed to do fantastical things like go to a school that practices witchcraft, or a summer camp for demigods. Or have an aesthetically pleasing start in middle school. 

But the child was turning twelve years old today. It was sunny outside. 

The child had a name of course. Not a very good one, so they didn’t use it when possible. 

For the child’s 12th birthday, their mother had invited lots of her old friends from college. She didn’t have any relatives in the United States.

And the child had a few friends, good ones. Nice kids in their English class who they walked with at recess, sometimes playing wall-ball or eating lunch in the library. But they didn’t invite them over for birthdays. Or at all, really. 

In Lena Kuznetsova’s home, birthdays were a family affair, which of course, extended to Lena Kuznetsova’s friends. And Lena Kuznetsova was the child’s mother. 

“I want you to put on that purple skirt Christina got you for your last birthday.” The mother said to her child. 

The child did not like this ask. Christina bragged about her daughters, which made Lena Kuznetsova want to sign the child up for enriching extracurricular activities, and Christina was the woman who said to Lena Kuznetsova at the grocery store when the child was six: “ She already acts so much like Will!” 

That was the first time the child had ever heard their father’s name. Will. It was a nice moment, sitting in the shopping cart and staring at the on sale pancake mix.  _ Will. Will. Will.  _

And after that trip to the grocery store, after Christina Ainsley Baker had said to Lena Kuznetsova in aisle 9 at the mom and pop store that was now a Safeway: “ She already acts so much like Will!” Lena Kuznetsova became entirely separate from the child. 

_ Sometimes, when the child stared at their nightlight and hugged their plush cat close to their chest, they mouthed “Will,” over and over again to fall asleep.  _

The child had never met Will, didn’t even know his last name. They had wondered about him before, wondered if they were really so alike. Once, they asked Lena Kuznetsova: “What’s my Dad’s last name?” They had been sent to bed early with no dinner. So, they hadn’t asked about Will since then. 

Lena Kuznetsova grew further from the child every time they flapped their hands in excitement, or when they couldn’t stop “teething” at a respectable age, or when they couldn’t look people in the eyes, or became mute in restaurants, or when they were picky at meal time, when they had to be taken by the hand to the restrooms because they were worried that people would look at them. 

“I think your child has some kind of mild autism.” A faceless lady had once said at the pediatricians, when the child was nine. Lena Kuznetsova didn’t say anything, and threw the pamphlet away when they got home. 

When the child was nine, their hair stopped getting bleached blonde,  _ like Lena Kuznetsova’s yellow hair,  _ by the summer sun, and stayed dark brown everyday of the year. 

When the child was eleven, their body began to change. “You’re becoming a beautiful young lady,” Lena Kuznetsova would say to them, and brush the child’s hair away from their forehead, until the texture of their hair changed in late summer and started growing wavy, almost curly. Lena Kuznetsova had stopped touching the child altogether. 

The child did not want to be a beautiful young lady. They didn’t want to be a woman at all. They grew taller and then lankier, and angry pink spots graced their forehead. They started to wear grownup’s underwear and they started to smell bad if they didn’t wear deodorant. 

Meanwhile, Lena Kuznetsova met someone at Christina and Jeremy Baker’s happy hour party, a blond man about her age with a perfect white-toothed smile. His name was Tyler Bridesworth and he was from Los Angeles. Tyler was the CEO of something the child didn’t care to pay attention to, and he liked Lena Kuznetsova.  
Tyler liked her even though  _ oh no Mr. Bridesworth, I just work an office job,  _ and  _ you’re such a charmer, Mr. Bridesworth, but I got the recipe online.  _ Mr. Bridesworth wanted to make Ms. Kuznetsova into Mrs. Bridesworth. 

Tyler didn’t really like the child. That was okay, because the child didn’t really like Tyler. He said “hello” and “bye” to the child when he came by the house with flowers and jewelry for Lena Kuznetsova, and one day he had said “Could you take pictures when I give your mom this ring?” And the child did. Lena Kuznetsova had cried tears of joy that day, and again the day she found out she was pregnant two months later. 

Now Lena Kuznetsova was six months along, and the child was glaring at the purple skirt from Christina upstairs, on their 12th birthday. 

They made streamers from the skirt with their school-granted craft scissors. ( Which was actually really hard). They did this, and Lena Kuznetsova came upstairs and only yelled for a minute, and then sighed, sat down on the bed next to the child. 

“You know I’m getting married to Tyler this spring.” 

“I know.” 

“And I’m having a baby with him,” she rubbed her stomach, “the doctor says it’s a boy.” 

“I know, mom.” 

They sat in silence. Lena Kuznetsova and the child both knew that it didn’t matter anymore, but neither of them said anything when Lena Kuznetsova laid out the cream-colored dress with short sleeves and a flowery collar, sunflower-patterned socks, and black Mary-Janes. The child changed into the outfit in the bathroom and came back. Lena Kuznetsova took the child’s hand. 

“I don't fit into your life anymore.” The child said. 

If the two of them had lived in a movie, perhaps Lena Kuznetsova would have exclaimed: “ _ You know that’s not true sweetie-pie _ !” And they would have hugged to sweeping sweet classical music. The child would’ve been the flower girl at the spring wedding. Tyler Bridesworth would adopt the child and they would live happily ever after.

“Yes.” Lena Kuznetsova whispered, a dark and terrible secret. It didn’t hurt anymore. The child already knew. 

Lena Kuznetsova traced the lines in the child’s hand, and sighed out something. 

Then she let go. 

“I’ve invited your father to stop by for your birthday today. Please try and impress him,” Lena Kuznetsova stood up and walked to the door, “ ...and you should wash your hands before the party. Tyler will be here at five with the cake, and it’s already half past four.” 

The child couldn’t breathe. 

“My dad?” 

Lena Kuznetsova looked strangely at them. “Yes, your dad. Please be a good girl, for him and the guests,” her eyes hardened, and she said as an afterthought , “His name is William Graham.”

“My dad?” They pleaded, in a smaller voice, long after Lena Kuznetsova had left the room, when Tyler was already kissing her hello in the kitchen. 

-

The child felt like their chest was exploding. Their head too, but that was different. No matter how many times they attempted to release it, the feeling in their chest built back up again as quickly as it had come.

Lena Kuznetsova had gotten embarrassed, because Tyler and his esteemed guests were arriving, so she sent them upstairs 10 minutes into the birthday party with a slice of vanilla cake. They really hated vanilla.  _ And it wasn’t even my party, it never was _ .They thought sourly. 

At the same time, the child was the most excited they could ever remember feeling, they were probably going to meet Will today. But what if he didn’t come? Didn’t want to? The child felt like they could throw up. 

Would Will like Vanilla or Chocolate cakes? Did Will fidget like they did? Were his mannerisms the same? What sort of work did he do? What did he  _ like  _ to do? 

If Will and the child stood next to each other in a mirror, would he smile at them, and brush the child’s hair from their forehead? 

Would he look at them?

Would he love them? 

The child suddenly felt a wave of dread, similar to the one just before Tyler came with his vanilla cake. How dare Lena Kuznetsova not tell them sooner? Why would she do something so  _ rude _ ? Why in the world would she think that this was a good, flawless plan for getting- 

“Hello. Hello.” There was a man kneeling in front of the child. The child realized suddenly that they had been punching their own thighs and bed from the past ten minutes. It hurt. 

They felt a wave of embarrassment.

“ Hello. What is it?” 

The man stood up, brushed off imaginary dust from his pants. He looked at the child’s wall of drawings. They were all characters from books and movies, taped up because Mom didn’t want holes in her walls. 

“Sorry. I’m Will Graham, and I’m looking for a kid called Valentina Kuznetsova. She’d be about your age,” he met the child’s eyes for a moment, then they both darted their eyes away, just a quickly, “Are- are  _ you  _ Valentina?” 

The child’s mind was suddenly completely blank. It was as if a bucket of bleach had just been spilled all over their brain. 

“Yes. That’s. That’s not my name though. I mean, I am the kid you’re looking for,” They wanted to crawl into a hole for the next million years, “That’s me.” 

Will Graham looked similarly pained. His eyes  _ blue, pretty blue,  _ shone bright with emotions. The child had no idea what to do with that. 

“What is your name?” 

“I don’t really know,” They laughed, nervously, shakily, “Is that- okay?” Their throat was closing up. 

“That’s completely fine, kid,” he placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, and quickly removed it, shaking. He took a deep breath, “It's nice to meet you. I know that this is a lot to absorb, but I’m your biological father.” 

“Graham. Will Graham.” They said, trying it out. 

“Yes.” 

“You’re my Dad.” 

Will Graham ducked his head. “Yes.” 

The child stood up from the bed, and didn’t hesitate when they reached out and held Will’s hand. It was cold and clammy, shaking, and he flinched. 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” They said, and meant it. They felt like they were floating, “Could I hug you?” 

Will exhaled shakily. His eyes were closed, painfully tight. “I would like that.” 

They brought their arms around his waist and buried their head into his chest. He was alive and warm and  _ real _ . Will was real. And the child felt grounded.

Will returned the embrace just as fiercely, and came to rest a hand on the back of the child’s head. He laughed wetly, “You’ve got my hair,” and he held them tighter, and held them for a long time. 

Much later, when the guests were still far from leaving, and even farther into bottles, Will and the child leaned against each other on the child’s bed. They ate the chocolates and leftover spaghetti that the child had found in the kitchen, and talked. 

“Did you know about me?” 

“Yes. I lost the custody battle after a week. Your mother claimed I was unstable, and we never dated.” He grimaces, looking pained. 

“Were you?” They ask, popping a chocolate into their mouth. 

“Unstable? Pretty much always,” he bites into his cold pasta, “So, no. I was just as capable as your mom, though I’m sorry she had to drop out for a semester. That’s just how babies are though.” 

“Oh, okay,” They don’t understand. But he sounds sincere, and he’s already endeared himself to them by being alive. They wish they could tell him so. “Did you miss me?” 

“Everyday.” Will says, and he sounds choked up again, with his shiny eyes. They don’t want him to cry, but they feel a swell of something at the fact that he would. 

“I think I missed you too.” 

Will takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. 

They sit an almost companionable silence for a bit, eating and staring at the child’s drawings. Will had already pointed out everything good about them. 

“Did… did you know about me?” Will eventually asks, and his voice is almost small, and very gentle. 

“I knew that I had a Dad, because all the other kindergartners at my suburban elementary school had Dads, and mom had Дедушка. And I’ve known your first name since I was six. I’ve known your last name since about six hours ago.” They admit.  _ I knew the imprints of you. I knew your ghost. I knew you were somewhere because my mom gave your ghost to me when I became capable of speech. I still have it.  _ They don’t admit that. 

“My first name?” Will blinks, confused.

They want to tell him everything.

“When I was six, my mom saw her friend Christina in a grocery store-she’s the short lady with the pearl necklace, downstairs,” Will nods thoughtfully at this, he remembers her from college, “Y’know how adults can be when they see each other in public. They talked about stuff I don’t remember, but I was sitting in the cart, looking at the pancake mix, and Christina said that I already acted so much like you. And she said “Will,” when she did say that. Mom got really upset, and that was the day she stopped wanting me.” 

“Stopped wanting you?” Will sounds dangerous. Like watching storm clouds approach you and knowing what’s coming. 

“Started to look at me less and less, and she stopped looking at me last year. I don’t think she can, I mean. My hair started being curly last year.” They run a hand through their bangs. It’s a poor substitute. “Now she’s pregnant, with um, Tyler’s baby. It’s gonna be a really pretty baby. They’re gonna name him Micheal, or Joshua. Tyler’s picking names out.” 

Will takes the child’s hand and squeezes it. Fat tears roll down their cheeks. Will coos sadly. 

“Today she told me that I don’t fit in her world anymore.” 

“She’s a bitch,” he spits, and then, “Ah, sorry. That’s your Mom.” 

“No, she’s, _no I don’t_ , no,” they let out a sob. It’s been a long time since they cried, “Do you still want me?” 

He wipes their tears away with his thumb. “Yes.” 

The child cries, but they aren’t so lost anymore. 


	3. Shirley Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear the plot will pick up soonish-but let me write fluff cos the world is ending anyways.  
> This was essentially me stuffing two months of plot into one chapter

Will Graham stays at a motel in Ashland, Oregon for the next week to keep visiting the child. He sees them everyday, all day, for six whole days. 

Will Graham even took the child to see a production of  _ Hamlet  _ on Wednesday night. 

Funny, Shakespeare was what the town was known for, and yet the child hadn’t been to a show. Not once. 

Lena Kuznetsova never took them. Really, the child didn’t blame her. Lena Kuznetsova had raised the child. Since she was only in her mid-twenties, in a new country, alone. She had raised the child until she couldn’t anymore. Then, she had still kept the child, given them a warm bed and books and toys, and for a while, some semblance of love. 

But they were still filled with resentment, because it was all going away soon. 

Sometimes, the child wasn’t sure who to be angry with. Lena had given up on them. The child was always going to hold that against her. Will Graham had been absent for the child’s entire life so far. He could’ve tried harder to get in touch. 

But Lena Kuznetsova had hated Will Graham more than anything, until she had decided it was more enjoyable to love Tyler Bridesworth more than anything. 

Somewhere in all of that, the child had been left behind. It just wasn’t fair. 

So, Hamlet was ruined, because Lena Kuznetsova had been in that theatre with Tyler, and had spent a wonderful night out with him. 

Everything their mother had touched was ruined. 

And they didn’t think they would ever stop being mad at the woman, stop feeling things at her. They hadn’t spoken besides  _ please take the trash out tonight,  _ and  _ bring the mail inside, please,  _ since the child turned twelve. 

Still. At least one stubborn atom of the child would always love her.

-

Will Graham was a hard person to get to know, even when he was actively letting you into his life, and you’re letting him into yours in return. 

He learned the child liked to read, and on Friday he bought them a fantasy book about dragons on a quest, and a book about fishing around the world.

The child had never been fishing. Will Graham promised to teach them soon. 

When they were walking home from the bookstore, (when Will was walking the child home), they decided to be brave, and they took his hand. 

Will couldn’t stop smiling until they reached the Kuznetsova residence, and the child had said goodnight. 

Will Graham grew a little closer. 

On Saturday evening, Will and the child ate dinner together at a casual Italian place. They ordered a lot of garlic bread, and Will didn’t even react when the child had mentioned their safe foods. 

“So what kinda work do you do?” They had wondered, in between bites of penne. 

Will seemed to grow tired before their very eyes. “I’m a teacher.” 

“Oh, that’s cool. What subject?” 

He pushed his gnocchi around with his fork. “I teach FBI trainees how to catch dangerous people.” 

The child sipped their shirley temple thoughtfully, through a yellow bendy straw. “Do you like it?”

“No, but I’m good at it.” 

“Why? Do you… work for the FBI or something?” 

“No, not stable enough,” he replied, bitterly. 

“Then, how are you so good?” 

Will Graham seemed to realize that he had said too much, because he slouched over and looked at his gnocchi like it had just killed his puppy. 

“I’m on the spectrum, like you, but I also have a very… particular empathy disorder. I can think like the criminals I teach about. I know it’s kind of scary, but it doesn’t make me less capable,”

The child finished their beverage. “I don’t think you’re scary. I think you’re really cool.” 

Will smiled. 

They found that they quite liked Will’s smile. They wanted to see it again.

And they wanted to see Will everyday for the rest of their life, they found, when it was time for him to go. 

Lena Kuznetsova had taken some pity on them, and her and Tyler had driven the child to the airport in Portland before Will could go through security, on Sunday morning. 

Tyler was already looking at the clothes rack in the first gift shop he saw. Getting a newborn an “I heart Portland” onesie would not be so distasteful if you and your family lived in Los Angeles. 

Lena Kuznetsova smiled at her fiancé, and looked at the child’s green sneakers. She felt good today. She told them to meet her back at the gift shop. 

The child made their way as fast as one could through a busy airport terminal, miraculously getting glared at only once by an elderly man with an oversized roller-bag. They looped over to the metal detectors and plastic tubs for laptops and shoes, and called out Will’s name. 

Will Graham turned, and beamed. He stepped out of the line, socks nearly slipping on the linoleum of the walkway when the child barreled into him. 

“I’ll miss you,” The child said into his shoulder, “I know my mom probably has your address- but could you write it down for me? And your phone number?” 

“I’ll miss you too, kid,” He said into their hair, “I’ve got a pen right here,” He clicked it for effect, and the child smiled back at him. 

“I made you a goodbye card,” they said once he had given them a very precious sticky note, and it was folded neatly in their pocket, “Don’t open it until you’re on the plane, okay?”

They squeezed his hand. 

“I promise.” He squeezed back. 

After the child had trudged back to the gift shop, Will Graham looked at the envelope until the closest TSA worker had burned a hole through the back of his head. He grinned like an idiot. 

-

_ Will- _

_ Thank you for coming to my birthday. I think I’m going to miss you more than I have ever missed anyone. Someday soon, I want to live with you and your dogs. I hope that when I meet them, they like me. I’m pretty sure I’m not allergic to dog hair. Please pet them for me when you get home, and fly safe! :-)  _

_ From,  _

_ Your kid. _

_ - _

At first it was paperwork, and laws, and phone calls, and heavily cc'd emails that the child didn’t know much about at all. It was all so much, and it felt like even more stress with the end of 6th grade coming up and the heatwave. 

May bled into June like watercolor bled into watercolor on wet paper. No one felt like doing anything, and yet there was something to be done about everything. 

The child lived peacefully at Lena Kuznetsova’s home, until standardized tests were over, and summer break came.

On the last day of school, they said goodbye to Daryn, and Jules, and the friendly 8th graders, who listened to metal and punk and had revolutionary ideas about red eyeshadow. The English teacher, too, because Mr. Davis had always been nice. 

“You're moving!”

“Yeah, to Virginia. My Dad lives there.” 

“Are you happy about moving?” He pushed his round glasses up, and looked like he really wanted to know. The child thought he did. 

“Unreasonably.” They smiled, and he had smiled back and given them the last of the starburst from his desk.

It felt like a goodbye to Oregon. It felt like an important goodbye. 

“I hope Virginia treats you well.” 

-

Custody battles aren’t really custody battles when one of your parents doesn’t want you. 

It hadn’t been much but a blur for a 7th grader. There was a court date on 23rd of June. The child had been terribly anxious for it, and had to wear Mary-Janes and itchy clothes again. 

Will had won custody within an hour. He had looked so relieved. After the trial, the child had been able to hug him once before he was expected back at work. And that was that. 

Lena is by now very pregnant, she’s feeling a bit too sick and a bit too weak to do much these days but rest. Tyler treats her so well. 

Still, Lena Kuznetsova had hugged the child goodbye in that same airport terminal. It felt fundamentally wrong, but not bad. It felt like an apology from someone who wants very badly to be sorry, but couldn’t possibly be. 

It had felt regretfully empty. 

Today was July 9th. The child is suddenly on a plane to go live with Will Graham, in Wolftrap Virginia. For the foreseeable future. The child is exactly 12 years and 2 months old. 

Going through an airport and onto a plane all alone was terrifying. LED lights are sickeningly bright, it smells like sweat and other people’s laundry detergent. 

The child hasn’t been on a plane since they were very young. They don’t remember flying to Moscow. They don’t remember driving for hours and hours and meeting Mr. and Mrs. Kuznetsov. They don’t really remember getting that stuffed-cat, two elderly people smiling down at them expectantly. « _ кошек, кошек _ !»

In the backpack under the seat in front of the child, there’s a little orange cat and it’s name is Will. 

-

The child had already finished up the dragon book during June, during the flood of legal documents and 80 degree weather.

They begin to read the fishing book on the plane. It’s very detailed, and surprisingly good. 

The child had expected to be bored, even if they had really  _ wanted _ to like it. But it’s good, in a calming sort of way. It makes the child think of Will, standing in a river and casting his line, just as he had described it over the phone. The child hopes he catches really big fish. 

While they read, they eat the overpriced PB&J from the airport deli. 

They make it about halfway through this book, and it is approximately 350 pages long. By then they are somewhere above Nebraska. 

They read a few more pages in the airplane bathroom. 

After re-waking up the woman in the aisle seat and her husband, they sit down and put the fish book in their backpack, and exchange it for their yellow legal pad, _ for lists and thoughts of great import.  _

_ Names  _ they write, and make the first bullet point. 

-

  * _Lyudmila_


  * Micky? 


  * Mitch?


  * Toby


  * Blue


  * Caspian


  * Toffee


  * Nikolai. Kolya for short. 


  * Freddy???



-

From the little window, the sky is orange, and growing dim. The plane is far above the clouds. Far above the farms and houses and people. They wonder if they’ll fly over Will’s house. 

They dream. 

-

The child had only learned about time zones because they had grandparents that lived on the other side of the world. 

The knowledge that time zones were actually real made itself very apparent by the time that the pretty airplane hostesses were waving goodbye to the child, and everyone else. 

The child was exhausted. The child was also nervous. A gut-churning kind of nervous. 

They aren’t really paying attention to the airport signs. It’s an airport in Washington, D.C.

They get lost on the way out. Then they cry in a dirty bathroom and a woman applying mascara pats their back in sympathy. 

The child’s eyes sting, and they feel small. 

They don’t stop at the baggage claim- all of the things they need are in their suitcase and their backpack. 

This time, they follow the signs all the way to the big exit, where men in rumpled suits stand with signs that say things like  _ Hayashida  _ and  _ The Smith Family.  _

The child sees Will before Will sees them. He looks very nervous, and he’s fidgeting and making people on their phones uncomfortable. He has a little bouquet. 

The child feels something very big. They think it is a burst of love. They run towards him as fast as the roller bag allows down a crowded staircase, which causes a commotion. Will sees them. And Will opens his arms. 


	4. Good Old Grilled Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one may be boring, but it’s fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Kolya’s interests on some of my own at that age.  
> School is hard, I planned to publish this yesterday. Sorry :/

Will Graham’s car smells perfectly dusty; just like elevators in certain office buildings and urban supermarkets, and clean garages. You have to experience this smell to understand. 

It’s the child’s most favorite smell. 

The backseat is a gradient-carpet of dog hair, where the child and their backpack sit merrily. Shotgun is occupied by a lot of groceries, and Will is at the wheel, bound for home. 

The house is in a very rural town called Wolftrap. The child was hesitant about this. 

They had actually liked that class-camping trip in 5th grade, as  _ campy  _ as it had been. Otherwise, they had spent their life in a big-small town, a place with nice homes in rows, that attracted tourists in warm weather. 

Back in Ashland, all the Mothers and Fathers in the neighborhood had known each other. They had things like block parties, and Christmas parties, and even Saturday cookouts, when fathers opened up grills and made bloody hamburgers. 

The child had a feeling that in Wolftrap, Will Graham didn’t talk to his neighbors. 

_ He also seems sensible, so he probably cooks his hamburgers all the way through _ . 

For a moment, they try to imagine Will as a suburban father; he would still fish, but he would wear khaki shorts instead of denim and cargo, and he would have an unnecessarily expensive propane grill. 

They accidentally giggle aloud. It’s crazy to think of him like that. Will glances at them in the rear view, bewildered. They feel oddly guilty. 

The drive is long because of an accident on a nearby highway.

Virginia also  _ feels  _ different from Oregon; like another world entirely. Even though there were still lots and lots of pine trees, and gas-station twix bars to feel queasy because of in Virginia. 

The night sky also feels darker here.

A darkness that feels complete and bottomless, driving past fields of tall crops and forest, the occasional light of another’s headlights- even rarer is the beacon of lit windows in a home. 

-

Will’s house is at the edge of a big, grassy field. It looks small on the horizon, like a white ship against the backdrop of inky waves. 

At the door, a pack of dogs greet them, yapping and barking excitedly at the new person. 

The child allowed them smell them, and the dogs allowed the child to pat their heads in turn. Will was beaming. 

“This is Buster, Muffin, Rocky, Bones, Bluebell, and Trout,” Will said, pointing to each dog as he did so, “ They like you already.” 

The child set their bags by the door, and following Will’s example, kicked off their sneakers and left them under a small wooden bench. 

Will’s house smelled of dog and wood fires. When they followed him into the kitchen, it smelled of coffee grounds. The lighting was warm, a sharp contrast to the fluorescent, cold lights of airports. It was comforting. 

His furniture, they noted, was worn, and mismatched. However, all of it shared the cozy style of a grandmother’s living room, which the child appreciated. 

The child didn’t realize they were hovering until Will said; “You wanna take a seat? I’ll make us dinner.” 

His kitchen table was wooden as well, dark in shade, round, and varnished. It was covered in little indents from plates and bowls and cups over the years. Some of them looked like the imprints of a pen on paper. The child traced them with their fingers. They wondered if any of them had stories. 

“I hope you like grilled cheese,” Will said, breaking the child out of their stupor. A grilled cheese did indeed sit in front of them, accompanied by 4 apple slices. The sandwich was cut into two clumsy triangles. The child lifted up one of said triangles, finding a tropical fish design on the plate. 

“Aw hell, are you lactose intolerant? I have some-”

“No, it’s good. Thank you. I like your plate.” 

“Oh. Sure. Thanks.” 

The rest of dinner was silent, save for chewing and the dogs whining beside the table. 

“Your house is really nice.” The child said, when Will was giving them a tour. 

“It’s nothing special. I’m glad you like it, though.” He replied. 

“It feels nice here.” The child mumbled. Will didn’t know what to say to that.

The second bedroom, recently stocked for the child, was the last stop. The walls were a light shade of blue, like Will’s bedroom. There was an empty closet, waiting to be filled, a little wooden desk with a stool, and a nightstand with an antique lamp, shaped to look like a frog. On it also was a stack of books. There was a twin bed- new mattress, old frame. The duvet was brand new, and themed with kittens playing with stars and balls of yarn. It really did look like a sweet old lady had decorated. 

All of it made the child feel that strange insurmountable feeling again, the one in the airport. 

“I hope you like it.” Will said, quietly. 

“I do,” The child managed, and reached out to hold his hand. It was clammy again, as his hands often seemed to be, and the child realized suddenly that Will was very nervous. They squeezed his fingers. “I love it.” 

And they bid each other goodnight.

“I’ll just be down the hall if you need anything, okay?”

They retrieved pajamas from their bag and took the first shower. Will’s shower was weird, as in, different from their shower back in Oregon. 

Stepping back into  _ their own _ dark bedroom felt surreal. 

Now that they were finally where they were supposed to be, everything felt new and strange and awkward.

The duvet and pillow were soft, and there was an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. 

Diligently, as it was already very dark, the child turned on the frog lamp and began to sort through the books on the nightstand. In Oregon, they hadn’t owned so much as borrowed many books.  _ “Library cards are good for something,” _ Lena Kuznetsova had liked to say, and she wasn’t wrong. 

There was a copy of  _ The Hobbit,  _ which they had never read, and only heard was “ _ The kind of book that demands to be read,”  _ from the internet. There was also the first  _ Percy Jackson  _ book. Jules, a friend from 6th grade English, had been absolutely obsessed with the series. At the time, the child had been preoccupied with the  _ Wings of Fire books.  _ They looked forward to reading it. There were a couple other YA novels, and a thick natural-history book about Virginia. 

The insurmountable feeling seemed to linger tonight. 

Everything was clean and comfortable, and they eventually fell asleep listening to the crickets chirp, hugging Will the orange cat. 

The child didn’t quite fit into Will Graham’s life yet, but there was a big space for them, waiting. 

-

The next morning the child brought  _ The Lightning Thief  _ downstairs. Will had made eggs, and was attempting to pan-fry bacon.

The child got the feeling that Will didn’t often cook for himself.

“Here,” they said, and turned off the gas stove top, got out a cookie sheet, asked him for tinfoil. Will indulged them. The child set the oven to 350, and waited for it to preheat, laying out the bacon on the sheet in a neat row. 

“Do you cook breakfast often?” Will asked. 

“Not really, but I watched my friend’s Mom do this every Saturday morning last summer.” 

“That’s handy.” Will had said, and sipped his coffee. He looked very tired then, the glow of the morning sun combined with his pajamas made him look softer than the child had ever seen him. He was relaxed, for once. 

They were glad Will hadn’t asked about Jules, or Daryn, or the 8th graders with cool makeup. The child missed them too much to talk about them yet. 

The kitchen table was familiar today, and the two of them ate together and talked about Greek mythology and the proper way to cook bacon, and were content. 

-

The rest of the day was peaceful and quiet, it was a Saturday, after all, and summer. 

Sunday, and the week that followed it was nearly the same. 

On July the 15th, Will took the child clothes shopping at a strip mall about 20 miles outside of Wolftrap. 

Will didn’t blink when they picked things from both sections, he helped with sizes and practicality, though. The child needed boots for where they lived, warm layers, and sturdy pants for the coming seasons. 

The child dressed themself how you would expect a good number of 12 year olds to dress- in graphic T-shirts, and denim jeans (dark-wash). These things were easy to collect at the store. 

The child even picked out a salmon-colored chambray shirt, much like the one Will owned, and winked at him. It made him grin, and he winked back. 

Luckily, the teenager who was chewing a big wad of gum at the register didn’t seem to give a shit if there were some shirts in their basket with sharks, and some with flowers. The rest of the day was just as good. 

Every Sunday morning, Will and the child went grocery shopping at the local market, when most of the town was still in church. If the child noticed how he scheduled his time in public places, they didn’t say anything. If they were an adult, they’d probably do the same. 

July passed by in a haze of green trees, green fields, and long hikes with Will and the dogs. The child quickly fell in love with the land, often they rested in the grass surrounding the house to read, and watch clouds drift by. 

They were glad that they weren’t allergic dog hair, or pollen, for that matter. 

-

On August 1st, the weather was pleasant. It had been oppressively hot and humid the past week, and was likely to continue to be, but August 1st felt like the eye of the storm. 

“Do you want to go fishing today? Today is good for fishing” Will had said over breakfast, that same brand of pancake mix that the child had seen in the grocery store, and heard  _ Will. _

“That sounds good.” 

The river where Will liked to fish was only a mile hike from the house. The child had been to it before, on one of their excursions, though they didn’t know the name of it. It was a beautiful place. 

On the walk there, Will told the child about types of lures. He used plastic ones, when he could help it. Sometimes, if he was fishing in specific conditions, he would use night-crawlers, crickets, or red worms. Will also fished with a graphite pole. The child was glad they had already read through the fishing book- they were not completely lost in this conversation. 

Today, they were going bobber fishing. The child had never done this before, after all. They stood a while in the river, on large, smooth stones, boots on for grip. They waited until all they could hear was rushing water, and in distance, bird song.

“Okay,” Will said, and showed the child what to do. 

-

After two hours, the child had caught two brook trout, the first with Will’s help. The child had  _ almost _ gotten a third fish, but tried to reel it in prematurely, and it got away. Will said they had done great for their first time.

Will caught two small mouth bass, a particularly fat brook trout, and another fish that looked too little to eat, so he threw it back. The trip was cut short by an unexpected hot-front at exactly noon. 

They ate their packed lunch of beef sandwiches and sweet tea that Will had prepared, and walked home reluctantly. 

Will made grilled fish and salad for dinner that night. He had seemed off since lunchtime, and his mood had still not improved at dinner, despite the good meal. 

The child had a thought. They had mulled over this exact thought for the whole of summer. 

They decided that today was a good day for it. 

So, at 10 o’clock, when Will usually came in to say goodnight, the child was prepared. 

“Goodnight, kid,” Will said.

“Goodnight Dad, I love you.” The child answered, and did not look up from their book. They had just killed two birds with one stone. The two biggest birds of all of the birds.

For a panic inducing moment, there was only silence, and the child read “ _ It seemed that Bilbo was not going to be eaten after all,”  _ nearly five times before they heard an ugly sniff, which of course prompted them to look up. 

Oh. 

This had not been the desired effect. They wanted to make Will smile again, they loved it when Will smiled. 

Will was crying. Big tears were rolling down his face in quick succession, and he was looking right into the child’s eyes, with a look of something entirely insurmountable and indescribable in his own. 

The child got out of bed without bookmarking their page, and hugged him. He held them like they were something precious, something important, something  _ loved.  _

“ _ I love you too _ .” He had choked out, and the child didn’t regret a single thing, because there was a smile in their Dad’s voice. 


	5. Canada Dry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ones shorter folks, but we are finally synced up to season 1, episode 1 :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should be doing homework.

August is when Will’s laptop gets flooded with the biggest wave of school-related emails yet. He’s a teacher, after all. 

And, Will usually doesn’t have this much time off in summer. It’s the FBI, and that should say it all. He has to go back to work soon, but he’s reluctant because of the child, who won’t start school until September. 

The child thinks he’s being a bit paranoid. They had experienced quite an independent childhood up until a few months ago. 

They reassure him as best as they can- They’ve taken care of themself just fine for years without him. 

“But you don’t have to do that anymore,” Will blurts eventually, and then looks embarrassed. The child feels that feeling again- the big one, and they can finally put a name to it. 

The child is touched. They feel loved. It makes sense that such a feeling was so hard to place, before Will. Before Dad. 

“I know, Dad. Still, you can’t be there all the time, and I can do my summer reading and take the dogs out when you're gone. They’ll be with me.” 

He still hesitates, but eventually relents when he wakes up one day and his inbox that had about 400 emails the previous day is now at around 1,000. 

So, Will goes back to work on the 10th of August and the child stays at home, and does summer reading for their new school, and lets the dogs out in the yard most of the days.

For a couple of blissful weeks, everything is normal. 

-

_ August 16th. _

When they’re drinking a ginger ale and Will’s drinking a beer on the porch, after he gets home, they finally work up the nerve to say it. 

“I’ve been thinking about names for myself.” 

Will pauses, puts his Heineken down on one of the stairs. They have his attention. 

“I’ve been working on a list. I’ve narrowed it down to three, but um,” they cough on the harsh carbonated fizz of their drink, “It would mean a lot to me if you chose it.” 

“Of course, Pumpkin.” He says, so very gently. He’s been calling them that lately, because they had accidentally stepped clean through a pumpkin when they were walking by a farm. They had felt bad at the time, but it was funny in retrospect. 

They like the nickname, but it’s not a  _ name.  _

The child hands him the yellow legal pad, folded to the correct page; their final draft. 

-

_ -Blue  _

_ -Nikolai- Kolya for short  _

_ -Freddy _

-

“Definitely not Freddy,” Will says immediately, and then quickly corrects, “Is that one your favorite? I don’t mind if it’s your favorite.” 

The child laughs loudly, “Out of those three, it’s actually probably my least favorite.” 

“Oh, alright,” Will smiles in return, unsure of himself, and crosses it out with the red pen that the child had handed him for that purpose. 

Will takes his time with the other two, and the child finishes their bottle of Canada Dry, and gets thirsty. They go inside and return with two glasses of water. 

“I think… I think Kolya might be the winner, huh Pumpkin?” Will says, after another period of silence. The crickets have already begun their symphony. The sky at dusk is almost smoky, red-orange, and the coming night feels hopeful. 

Still, his choice surprises the child. They had expected him to shy away from any Russian names they chose- a reminder of the child’s mother and their life before. Their face must say it all, as faces often do with Will. 

“It’s more… fitting. It fits you well. What does it mean?” 

“It means “victory of the people.”” They admit, and feel more than a little silly for it. 

“It does fit! Your birthday is may day, after all,” Will smiles, “It’s perfect.” 

He had thought exactly like the child had. As they got to know Will, they came to understand his empathy. It could certainly be overwhelming, but it was… nice. They smiled back at him. 

“We need to get you a new notebook- you really like to write, yeah?” Will muses as he nurses his now lukewarm beer. 

Kolya thinks of their bad poems and fairytales. Perhaps someday soon, they will show them to Will. “I do.” 

Blue is crossed out with a red felt-tip, and Kolya is circled. 

And Kolya is. 

-

One week after Kolya was Kolya, Kolya gets hit by a perfectly immaculate Bentley, on a dirt road near their home. The man driving the car wore an equally immaculate suit, and his name was Hannibal Lecter. He was very polite, for someone who had just hit someone with a car. 

Kolya only suffers a deep cut on their cheek, nausea, and a few bruises. One sizable scrape on their left knee, that Kolya only discovers later, in the bath.

They still can’t find Buster, and they cry a little bit in his backseat, when Dr. Lecter is busy paying attention to the road. He had given them his knife.

When they pull up in front of the house, Kolya feels stuck. Frozen.

“Kolya.” Kolya tries. 

“Pardon?” The doctor,  _ Kolya wonders what kind of doctor, _ is looking at them in the rear view mirror. They realize that his eyes have a startling red tint. 

“My name is Kolya.” They clarify, and feel like an idiot for not doing so before. 

“That’s a nice name, Kolya is a Russian name- are you Russian?” 

“Um. On my Mom’s side. My Dad picked it though.” The knife is safe in their hands. 

“Lovely. The doors are unlocked.” 

They finally exit the car. The dogs, Dad, and the gun greet them at the door. Will hugs Kolya tightly, and they don’t recall anything else except saying goodbye to Dr. Lecter and falling asleep with Will and the pack, on the couch. Buster came home on his own. 

_ I was probably in shock, _ Kolya thinks the next day, when they’re eating their third grilled cheese and some carrot sticks that were drying out at the back of the crisper drawer. 

Dr. Lecter had been really nice, so they had lied to Dad about who’s car had hit them. They felt immense guilt about this, and could not bring themselves to sleep very much or eat breakfast the next day. ( Hence the surplus of grilled cheese). 

They take a long nap and do not do any reading or writing, nor much of anything but dream after lunch. 

That same day at work, Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Science Unit, asks Will Graham to work as a profiler on a new, troubling case. Eight college girls are missing in and around Minnesota. 

That evening, Will brings home a new dog. He calls him Winston. 

That night, when the dogs are playing together in the grass, on the porch sits one ginger ale and one Heineken, Will and Kolya Graham look up at dusk together. 

It feels like teetering on the edge of something utterly unknown. 

  
  



	6. American Diner-food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See you soon Abigail !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! Quarter is ending at my school, so assignments stacked up :/

“How was work?” Kolya asks everyday when Will comes home, from where they lay on the couch with a book or a blanket. Today is a book day, because Will is home before the sun sets. 

“I saw Dr. Lecter again today,” Will says as he shrugs off his coat, and Kolya’s book is entirely forgotten, “ Jack Crawford wants me to keep helping with this case. And I have to travel tomorrow- you’re coming too.”

Their Dad looks so  _ exhausted _ \- has looked so exhausted since he went to that crime scene two days ago. He’s been working late since then, too. They wish he could relax more. 

“I guess that means he’s the dig-in-your-brain kind of doctor?” 

A smile forms stubbornly on Will’s face. “He is.” 

They eat lentil stew that night, with chicken-apple sausage. It’s tasty, and it’s not something that Kolya has had before. Will’s been learning to cook more healthy, balanced meals since Kolya had come into his life. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Minnesota. We have to leave at 6 in the morning, so I suggest you pack a bag tonight,” Will answers between bites, and then says, “How’s the book?” 

And Kolya relays the details, packed full of brave warriors bearing noble crests upon swords and shields, and magical beasts living in enchanted forests. 

Both Grahams go to sleep and try to pretend that their lives are still like their summer- perfect, beautiful, and warm.

-

They spot Jack Crawford before he spots them at the airport. They’ve already gone through security. Kolya feels that they are getting used to airports, even with the overwhelming lights, sounds, and smells. 

The special agent has graying hair at his temples, strange facial hair, and is probably an inch shy of 6 foot. He has broad shoulders and a strong, rectangular build. 

He looks very serious.

“Hello Agent Crawford,” Will says, and Kolya can’t tell if Will looks uncomfortable because Crawford is a new person in his routine, or because there’s a screaming toddler nearby who refuses to end her rampage. 

Probably both. 

“Will! You’re five minutes late,” Agent Crawford says, and then, “You must be Will’s son. It’s nice to meet you.” 

It makes sense that Crawford used ‘son’. Kolya has always looked sort of androgynous. Today they’re wearing a fishing shirt with a joke on it: “ _ I never say good morning, because it’s only a good morning when I’m fishin’!”,  _ and a pair of jeans. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” 

Will looks like he wants to say something, but instead he buys Kolya an asiago bagel that’s still warm, and Jack drags them over to the gate within the span of two minutes. 

Will had decided to travel with Jack and his team- not because he had wanted to, but because it was the FBI’s money and traveling with a child could be expensive. 

There are three other people where Jack sits next to his own bags, and gestures for Will to do the same. 

Next to Jack is a tired woman with a leather jacket and an iced coffee, and two men in button up shirts who are playing what _looks_ like pocket edition Minecraft on their phones, and squabbling like Kolya’s fellow middle-schoolers tended to. 

“Kolya, this is Beverly Katz,” Will nods at the woman, who is suddenly rapt with attention, “Jimmy Price, and Brian Zeller.” The two men look up. 

“You have a kid Will?” Presumably Zeller says, looking baffled. 

“What, do you think I asked you two about those games for myself?” Will retorts, and Kolya nearly laughs. They don’t even have a smartphone, but they appreciate Will’s efforts nonetheless. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Kolya.” Beverly says, and seems sincere. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. Beverly.” 

“Wow, Will, you could learn a thing or two about manners from your kid,” then she leans over and mock-whispers, “Your Dad is a real-”

“Okay!” Will says, “I think they’re starting boarding now.” 

Kolya likes their Dad’s coworkers.

-

On the plane, Kolya gives half of the bagel to Will. He’d completely forgotten to get his own breakfast, and he’d protested sharing, so Kolya put one half on his lap and refused to touch it, which made Beverly cackle from the seat in front of them. Full-proof. 

They fell asleep soon after breakfast, still tired from getting up early in the morning. 

-

“Oh my god, that’s adorable. What’s your number?” 

Kolya wakes up feeling somewhat less tired. Will’s shoulder is an excellent pillow. They can tell he’s still asleep, because his head is dead-weight on top of their own. His hair is warm, and it tickles a bit on their forehead. 

They make a mental note to ask Ms.Beverly for that picture, and fall back asleep. They don’t dream. 

-

The plane lands in Minnesota after a couple long hours, and Jack Crawford gets whisked away by a big black car as soon as they leave the terminal. 

“Where’d he rush off to?” 

“Legal matters that hardly matter,” Beverly yawned, stretching her arms high above her head, “I’m gonna go find a decent drink. Are any of you nerds coming?” 

“You are a genius, Beverly.” Price sighed, and he and the other two hopped into a cab and waved goodbye to the Grahams. 

“They seem nice. Sorry I can’t go into bars.” 

“Don’t apologize pumpkin,” Will grinned, “A twelve year old is a great excuse not to socialize.” 

They leaned against his side. Will hailed a cab soon after, and soon after that they are situated in a shitty motel, courtesy of Crawford’s team.

Will decided to order Pizza for dinner, and he collapsed soon after finding a nature documentary on the little television. 

The motel room smelled too clean, and not clean enough. The broken AC reeked of mildew, and the carpeting would probably give you fungus if you walked on it with bare feet, but it was home for the next few days. So Kolya put Will (the orange cat,) on their pillow, and started channel surfing when they were certain that Will (their Dad,) was sound asleep.

-

The morning was rude. And bright. Sun winked off of every reflective surface in the room,  _ why didn’t we close the blinds all the way,  _ and someone was knocking at the door. Will groaned next to them. 

Kolya practically fell out of bed, and tried to regain some dignity by toeing on their sneakers.

“I’ll get it, Dad.” 

_ I’m wearing Halloween pajamas,  _ Kolya thought, and wanted desperately to hide in the bathroom. Instead, they opened the door. 

It wasn’t housekeeping after all.

“Hi again, Doc.” 

Hannibal Lecter rose a brow. “Good morning, Kolya. What a nice surprise,”

Kolya wondered briefly if his voice was always so even and pleasant in the mornings, and when he hit people with cars. 

“Dad had to bring me. He doesn’t trust the neighbor’s kids to watch me overnight,” Kolya stood aside and held the door open. 

“He doesn’t?” 

“Oh.” Will greeted, toothbrush in hand. 

“Good morning Will.” 

“Where’s Crawford?” 

“Deposed in court. I believe the adventure will be yours and mine today,” Hannibal’s gaze shifted back to Kolya, “And is Kolya coming along?” 

“Kolya is spending the day with Beverly.”

“I am?” They asked. 

“I hope that’s okay. She’s coming to get you at nine.” 

“That’s fine, Dad.” Realistically, they knew that criminal profilers did not take their children on investigations. Still, they couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. 

“My apologies,” Hannibal said a moment later, “If I had known you were here, I would have prepared a third portion.” Then he gestured for Kolya to sit, and placed one of the tupperware containers down. 

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m just gonna take a shower, and um, I’ll probably eat the Cheerios we brought.” They grabbed their bag and locked the bathroom door before either man could reply. 

Kolya came out of the shower in a Spider-Man shirt and jeans, and Will and Hannibal were gone. Will had left their extra key and a sticky note;  _ Have a good day. -love, Dad.  _

They felt somber, as they pulled on their socks and sneakers, and waited for Beverly to come. While they did, they fussed with their new jacket.

It wasn’t actually new- it had been Will’s sometime in his 20’s, and had been collecting dust in the attic space at the house in Wolf Trap. 

The thing was a large, dark-green trucker jacket. It looked like the one Will owned now, flannel lined and everything, but this one was faded, and waxed waterproof. 

Kolya treated the jacket like a priceless faberge egg. Which is to say, they treated it very well. 

Just as they were buttoning said jacket up over their sweatshirt, there came another, less polite knock at the door.

“Hi Ms. Beverly.” 

“Hey kid. You can just call me Bev.” She smiled, coffee in hand.

“Oh, okay.” They looked at their shoes. 

“You wanna grab some waffles? I’ll be working on my laptop all day today- sorry we can’t do anything fun.” 

Kolya locked the door behind them and slipped the key into their jacket pocket. They exhaled, and watched their visible breath, all toothpaste and mouthwash, fade away in the cold. 

“Waffles are fun.” 

The waffles are fun- or at the very least, good. Beverly drowns her waffles in syrup and whipped cream, and Kolya doesn’t feel so awkward around her, like they do with most new people. She’s got a very carefree aura. 

Kolya also consumes a lot of maple syrup. 

Afterwards, they walk around for a bit, and sit down at a cafe. Beverly works on her laptop for hours, and Kolya gets refills on hot chocolate because the waitress called them “a charming young man”. 

Beverly also doesn’t seem to care that Kolya is, well,  _ Kolya _ . 

They vaguely ask her about it at around two in the afternoon, and without looking away from her screen, she says; “I grew up with a lot of brothers and sisters, and one sibling.” And Kolya feels warm and fuzzy. 

-

At around four in the afternoon, Beverly Katz gets a phone call. She frowns at the screen, and then picks up. 

One minute later, she and Kolya are speeding down a highway. 

“What happened?” 

Beverly doesn’t look away from the road. She takes a sharp inhale. 

“You know what kind of work your Dad does?” 

“Yeah.” Kolya really doesn’t like where this is going. A horrible, sharp feeling crawls up into the back of their throat, ready to cry or scream, they don’t know. 

Beverly doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment. “He caught the Minnesota shrike. He also shot the Minnesota shrike ten times.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, I know, kid. He’s fine, he’ll be fine.” 

They want to take comfort in her words. Beverly is still practically flooring it, but every second feels like a lifetime to Kolya.  
They look out at dusk. The fat white clouds on the horizon look to be stained red with blood. 

  
  



	7. Twinings Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Will works a stressful new case, Kolya experiences a variety of interesting social situations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Abigail is in the next chapter :)  
> Also! Changed my username. I just liked it better.

When Kolya and Beverly had arrived at the hospital, they saw Jack Crawford arguing with an auburn haired woman in the main hallway. 

The woman noticed Beverly, and sagged with relief. Jack Crawford turned, and looked at Kolya with something akin to sympathy, or perhaps pity. The woman couldn’t look away from them, her blue eyes set deep with worry. Beverly squeezed Kolya’s hand. Kolya went through the double doors alone. 

Will had obviously been pacing the little waiting room for a long time. There was still blood on his shirt, from what exactly, Kolya couldn’t tell. He looked small. 

“Dad?” 

“Kolya!”

Will engulfed them. The sleeve of his shirt had red speckles on it, and it was touching their face. He leaned into them like they were an anchor. 

“Dad.”

“I was afraid-” He swallowed, and drew them closer to his heart, resting his chin on their head. 

“I was worried about you, too.” They said.

-

The Grahams had already agreed in summer that Kolya would be homeschooled. They weren’t an irresponsible kid, they could handle it. They had attended public school for their whole life, and they sincerely doubted they would enjoy it now- being who they were in rural America. 

Will had recently upgraded to a more powerful router, and had used a lot of money to get Kolya a brand new laptop. 

It was a lenovo, and it could play dvds. Kolya thought it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

A while ago, Lena Kuznetsova had gotten them a flip-phone, with the promise of a sleek new iphone sometime in the 8th grade. They still had the flip phone. She had owned a computer, too, but Kolya was only ever allowed to touch it when school required it.

Now, Kolya had their own computer, the internet at their fingertips. You’d have to excuse them if they were more than a little excited. 

They found lots of free ebooks, pirated movies, and YouTube videos that they later forced Will to watch. He barely understood half of them. 

The most entertaining thing, perhaps, was the ability to change the desktop background at their whim. They ended up with a cool  _ Scream  _ one, ghost face raising his bloody knife, a landline in his other hand. 

Of course, they did have to do actual school work as well. They opened tabs on the mandated website, and spent most of the days reading, or annotating, or doing math problems. It was okay, the same sort of okay as regular school. Maybe easier, given the lack of social situations. 

Actually, Will worried about that. He knew that they were learning, but Kolya didn’t have any friends, unless you counted the dogs. Will also understood what it was like to be socially inept, or very close. 

One Friday, when Will was knee-deep in the Mushroom Man case, he had Kolya go to the neighbors to socialize. 

The Wesbergs lived a few miles down the road, closer to the actual town than the Grahams were. There was Caroline, the mother, who liked smoking and made really good sloppy joes, Red, the father, who liked hunting small game and watching TV, and their three daughters; Kenzie, Laura, and Emma. 

Kenzie was probably eighteen. She was really pretty, green eyed and blonde, and she left to see her boyfriend after dinner. 

Laura was fourteen, and wore lots of black, and peculiar jewelry. She didn’t seem to like Kolya, and locked herself in her room as soon as she got a plate. Emma was also twelve. She seemed to look up to Laura, so she did the same with her nose in the air. 

Kolya sat with Red Wesberg on the sofa and pretended to watch football for three hours. 

Sometimes he’d say; “Grab me another beer, son?” And Kolya would. It was a bad night. They wanted to go home. 

Once, Emma came out of her room to get a Pepsi from the fridge. She looked at Kolya. Her pink skin flushed pinker, and she ran away. 

“Don’t you get any ideas about my daughter, son.” Red said. 

“Yes sir.” They said, because they had seen enough movies to know it was the correct thing to say. Red quickly moved to the topic of “that damn quarterback,” and Kolya’s thoughts wandered to Emma. 

Emma. She had shiny blonde hair and hazel eyes, and turquoise colored braces. Her cheeks were ruddy, in a sweet sort of way, and she dressed in dark clothes that suited her. Her laugh was loud, and sort of wheezy, but it was nice. 

Someone on the TV made a touchdown, and Red cheered and slapped their back. Kolya remembered that the Wesbergs thought that they were a boy, and that the Wesberg family had certain values, and sobered up. 

They got Red another Budweiser. He belched, and they watched the rest of the game while Caroline talked on the phone in the kitchen, and made them a chunky bean dip. Kolya was pretty sure that one of the team's names was a slur. They had learned more than they ever wanted to learn about football. 

-

Will slept poorly. It was once in a blue moon that he managed a full six hours of uninterrupted rest. Sometimes,  _ for a couple weeks now _ , Will would wake up screaming. 

The first was on that same Friday, a sharp “ _ No _ !”, and a few days later he had muttered “ _ Abigail _ ”, and then bolted up with a guttural yell. 

The first time Kolya ran to his room with a hammer. He had apologized profusely for waking them, then he had  _ nearly  _ touched them, but stopped short, realizing just how sweat-soaked he was. Kolya did not sleep much that night. 

The second time, Kolya came into his room and held his hand. His palms were dripping sweat. They waited for him while he hopped in the shower, and changed his sheets for him. Will’s mattress seemed brand new, but that was near inconceivable- the only other new piece of furniture in the house was Kolya’s mattress, because they had only lived here a few months. Kolya Graham was clever though, and they quickly recalled the worn pullout couch downstairs. They had never noticed how empty- how thrown together Will’s room upstairs was. 

_ Oh. _

When he came back, all trembling limbs and painful looking eye-bags, they climbed into his bed and tucked themself into his side. “Goodnight, Dad. I love you.” It was their turn to be the anchor again. 

A pause. A hesitant, shaking hand, coming to rest in Kolya’s hair. “I love you too, Pumpkin.”

“Thank you for being here when I need you.” They said, then Will gathered them close again, to his heart, and they both slept through the night. 

-

Quantico was an intimidating place, probably because it was supposed to be. Will had avoided taking them to his workplace for as long as he could, but he had to take on a lot of work for this case, so he brought Kolya along.

It was likely the closest Kolya would ever come to those “bring your child to work days”. They felt weirdly giddy about it. Or, the giddy feeling they got from buttoning up their most unwrinkled flannel in the mirror that morning was weird. New. 

It was stupid to feel that way, they knew. They spent a lot of the day away from Will, in a plain room. It felt like the waiting room at their old dentists. The wifi was good, so Kolya went to school. They wondered what kind of a teacher Will was, and what his classroom looked like, so close by. The waiting room felt suffocating, like  _ sterile  _ purgatory. Like doctors and dentists and guidance counselors. All the things Kolya couldn’t stand. 

At about eleven, they broke, and went looking for the bathroom. The custodian had given them directions. The directions failed, because Kolya had no sense of direction, especially when they felt anxious. It was stupid, they were simple directions. 

“Are you alright?” A familiar voice asked, when Kolya had already buried their head into their own knees and started to cry. A meltdown was about five minutes away. They lifted their head up, only because they knew the voice. 

“Hello, Kolya. I thought it might be you.” The corners of Hannibal’s mouth ticked up.

“Hi.”

-

“How’d you find me? I was sorta out of the way.” Kolya asked, once they had been situated back into the polished purgatory, with Hannibal and his handkerchief as company. The handkerchief was white, with his red initials embroidered in one corner. They felt bad about crying into it. 

Microscopically, Dr. Lecter seemed to hesitate. It was hard to tell with him, his composure so absolute.

“You have a very distinct smell. I have a very keen nose.” 

They blinked. “What do I smell like?”

“A bit like your father, the scent of outside. You also carry the smell of book pages, and what I believe to be some kind of confectionery good,”

Kolya thought of the gummy worms in their backpack, they’d been snacking on them all morning. Dr. Lecter was full of surprises. 

“That must get annoying.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

They flushed in embarrassment. “I just meant, um, having such a strong sense of smell must get annoying. Especially in cities and public toilets and stuff.” Kolya had definitely offended him, and they felt creeping mortification take hold of their shoulders. 

The feeling dissipated entirely when he laughed, deep and long. It was a pleasant sound. 

“Yes, it can be very irritating at times.” He smiled. 

They smiled back, unsure. Dr. Lecter stood up, and brushed away imaginary dust from his pants. “Excuse me, Kolya, I will return momentarily- How do you take your tea?” 

It seemed like a very professional thing to ask, and Kolya didn’t really drink much tea these days. “With a bit of sugar and cream I guess.” 

He dipped his head, “And is there a preference for flavor?” 

“Anything’s good. Thanks, Doc.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said, and left. He was actually making tea. Not many minutes later Hannibal returned, laden with two steaming paper cups, like they were in a cafe.

“I hope Irish Breakfast is to your liking- caffeine is not ideal in this circumstance, however, the cafeteria here is not the ideal kitchen.”

They felt a grin forming. “That’s good, thanks.”

“Of course.” 

And they sat in silence, sipping tea. It tasted really good, Kolya thought. The time between pouring it and walking back here must’ve been enough for it to steep. 

“Oh no, I messed up your schedule!”

Hannibal sat up impossibly straighter. “Nonsense. I came in early today, hoping to see Dr. Bloom before her classes. I’m afraid the scheduling was still not in my favor,” he sipped his tea, “So thank you for good company.” 

They didn’t know what to say to that. “Sure.” 

The door on the left side of the room, the one that opened to the familiar hallway, swung open. 

“Dad!” 

Will blinked at Hannibal, slowly. His shoulders stiffened. 

“Hey, Pumpkin, I came to get you for lunch,” Will then pushed his glasses up at the other man, threateningly, “Hello Dr. Lecter.” 

“Hello, Will.” 

They stared at one another for a long moment. Kolya was confused, so they looked to Will. Will also looked as though he had no idea what was going on. He hid it very well.

“Can Doc eat with us?” They asked Will, and walked over to tug on his sleeve. His resolve softened, but he didn’t look away from Hannibal. 

“If he’d like to.”

“He would love to,” Hannibal stood up and slung his suit jacket over his arm, “And I know just the place.” 

-

Despite Will’s many protests;  _ This really isn’t necessary, I have another lecture at 2, you really don’t have to Dr. Lecter, at least let’s split the bill,  _ they ended up in a semi-expensive restaurant in Alexandria, which was only about a 30 minute drive in Hannibal’s Bentley. 

The inside of his car smelled dully of his cologne, but mostly, it smelled sterile. It was not so suffocating here. 

Hannibal seemed to have very high standards for food and service. 

Kolya and Will settled for the thirty-dollar grass fed burgers, with some kind of artisan mayonnaise smeared onto it. It was a terrifying burger, but it tasted really good. 

Longingly, Kolya thought of Wendy’s. 

Hannibal ate something with a long foreign name and a lot of mushrooms. 

“You and your father are so alike,” Hannibal had said during lunch. Kolya turned to Will, remembering that they were both wearing green jackets and flannel shirts today. And all the other more permanent details.

“Thanks, Doc.” 

Hannibal and Will did not discuss work during lunch. It would probably be inappropriate in front of Kolya.  Instead, Hannibal coaxed Will into a discussion about classic literature. 

The doctor seemed to enjoy it immensely, while Will nodded along. Eventually, Will was fondly remembering his senior year Aesthetics class, how the teacher was one of the nicest he’d ever had. Hannibal looked delighted by this information, and they continued speaking about  _ Bartleby,  _ a scrivener, and something called  _ Finnigan’s wake _ , which made Will frustrated, and prompted Hannibal to actually smile. 

Kolya wondered if it was because of their Dad or the book. 


	8. Wild Berries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby ,,, Halloween,,, Transgender kid ,,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so damn long, I had a really rough time with dysphoria the past couple weeks + exams. Bleh

It’s October now. 

Will shoots Eldon Stammets, and saves Abigail Hobbs from another serial killer. 

Dr. Bloom is at their house the next morning, when the dogs haven’t even peed, when Will hasn’t even had his coffee yet. 

Abigail is awake, and is being moved to Port Haven, in Baltimore. Hannibal promises Will that he will keep an eye on her. 

Will comes home from Maryland tired and upset, muttering something about “Freddie Lounds,” and wakes up in the dark gasping and shaking. Kolya is an anchor, keeping him steady in the midst of dark and turbulent waters.

-

One day, Kolya goes to the bathroom during breakfast and realizes that they’ve started their period. They don’t panic, but they cry. 

Will picks up maxi-pads and the best hot cocoa mix he can get his hands on. He is their anchor, too. 

-

Dr. Bloom had independently decided that it would be beneficial for the now orphaned girl to meet someone new. Abigail is the youngest woman in the psychiatric hospital, after all, and she had only had human contact with people over the age of 30 since coming out of her coma. 

Kolya wears their trucker jacket and a soft autumn-toned flannel, (stolen from Will), so that they don’t feel so uncomfortable. 

They bring their laptop with some DVDs, and sneak a blueberry muffin from home. They don’t know Abigail Hobbs, so they don’t know if she even likes blueberry muffins. One can only hope. 

The facility smells sterile. Like a hospital for people who have something physically wrong with them,  _ the usual kind _ . 

Kolya sucks it up as best as they can. 

There are odd, ruffled looking women, all adults, some that wander the halls. A lot of them look like they’re in some sort of a trance. Dr. Bloom had already explained that many of these women were heavily medicated,  _ it might be a little scary, but I promise that everything’s perfectly safe.  _

Kolya ascends two flights of stairs to make it to Abigail’s room. They visit alone- Dr. Bloom had said that more people would be more stressful for Abigail. 

While lost in their musings, Kolya’s path is abruptly blocked by one of the women shuffling about. The woman’s hair, just beginning to turn to gray, hangs over her face like a curtain. Her eyes are strange. She says “ _ My baby _ ,” in an impossibly small voice, and Kolya flees from her before she can do anything else. 

They wonder if Abigail’s eyes are also glazed over, just like the sweet capsules of pills- a thin veil of sugar to cover up something bitter. 

-

The first thing that Kolya notices about Abigail Hobbs is that she is  _ tiny _ . 

She’s only around five-foot, which makes Kolya a fair bit taller. Abigail’s dressed in uniform pajamas that swallow her whole. 

She’s pretty- full lips, stick-straight auburn hair, and freckles adorning her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a shade darker than Will’s, but they are hard and flat. Alert. 

“Hello,” Abigail blinks, “Um, if you’re looking for your mom or sister, I could ask one of the nurses to help you find her?” 

Kolya blinks back. “I’m here to see you.” 

That makes Abigail stop. Look at Kolya.  _ Really  _ look at them. 

“You’re Will Graham’s,”

_ I guess you could say that.  _ “That’s me.” 

“Dr. Bloom told me you’d visit this week,” her voice is carefully empty as she slides off of her bed, “Are you like your Dad, Kolya?” 

“Do I think like him, you mean,” Kolya feels like throwing the muffin at her face. “I don’t have his empathy, no.”

Their feelings must’ve bled through their words. Abigail looks almost chastised. “Sorry, I was being an asshole-” her hands fly to her mouth, “Forget I said that word.” 

Kolya allows themself to laugh, “I used to go to a public middle school, that’s really okay,”

Abigail looks surprised. Slowly, like a wild animal creeping around the edges of a winter campfire, she allows a small smile of her own. “Touché.” 

They sit down on Abigail’s bed, and Kolya gives her the muffin. She pokes at it. On a surface level, she seems weak and innocent. Kolya has thankfully inherited a meager ounce of their father’s abilities. 

Abigail Hobbs is a predator- it is thinly veiled, like campfire smoke, obscuring and distorting what stalks behind if you don’t  _ look.  _ Kolya sincerely doubts that Will has. 

Abigail Hobbs is also wounded, and very, very frightened. Will had seen it too. 

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“You brought movies?” She looks oddly surprised. 

“Yeah, my laptop plays dvds; I’ve got  _ The Iron Giant, Treasure Planet,  _ and…  _ Fern Gully _ .” They deliberately hadn’t brought any of their horror films. Will didn’t even know about those. 

“You’ve got good taste,” She takes a bite of her muffin. Kolya wishes that they had the foresight to bring more muffins, “All older movies, especially for your age. Do you collect dvds or something?” 

“I guess I do. The computer is new, so I’ve been looking for good movies to watch at the thrift store in my town. Streaming stuff seems too pricey, and some of the dvds are definitely pirated, but,”

“That’s cool, Iron Giant?” 

They nod. “Iron Giant.” 

-

“Thanks for doing something normal with me,” Abigail says, when they’ve just finished the scene with the lake, and they’ve laughed until their stomachs hurt, “I can’t remember the last time I laughed.” 

“Of course.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it if you visited again, Kolya.” She gifts them with her first smile of the day. 

-

That night Kolya had a vivid and strange dream. 

They were standing in a meadow of tall, yellow grass, and mist shrouded the world in a haze. It was a dark night, and Kolya could feel the cold seeping through their pajamas. 

The clearing was on the edge of a forest, the trees tall and thin, and Kolya knew that they were not meant to turn around, never to turn around, so they began to walk in it. 

The farther they went, the woods became deeper, and darker, until it was close to pitch black. The only things Kolya could see were the outlines of close trees, and occasionally, the faint glimmer of a star, peeking through the dense canopy above. 

While walking, they heard no sound but their own bare feet crunching on autumn leaves; so they were quite surprised when they nearly stepped on a dead robin. It’s body was frozen, and felt dirty to the touch. 

Kolya had always had a soft spot for birds, so they held it for a while, knowing that the bird hadn’t really died- but feeling no less sad for it.

The air was no longer cold, but not warm either, and the wind that had been biting and whistling at them before was far behind, the trees serving as a barrier. 

The stillness in the woods felt oppressive, and Kolya wondered just how far the woods went on. Perhaps forever. 

After a long time spent on walking, they tried to climb a tree. Once they made it through the layers of leaves, and reached the top, they saw the same far away lights among the night sky. The woods had no end in sight, with the mist and fog so thick, they could see less than ten feet ahead.

Defeated, and feeling more tired now than when they went to bed, Kolya descended from the tree, and stood in what they recognized from the woods at home as strawberry leaves, only these ones were dark and withered. 

They buried the robin in the soft soil beneath the plants, and curled around it’s grave. 

-

The next morning, Will woke them at dawn. 

On a Saturday, to be precise, and the thought of saying “five more minutes,” is very tempting. 

Instead, they graciously accept Will’s forehead kiss, and grab the go-bag that comes with being Will Graham’s ward, and with some foresight, an apple. 

It is always nice to drive so early in the morning, when mist still clings to the trees around Wolf Trap, and the sun is just barely hidden. The clouds are heavy with rain, and there is a sense of foreboding coming in waves from both the sky and Will. 

Kolya, however, is far too tired to think about things like the way Will’s brow is furrowed, or dead birds all alone in the deep dark woods.

They lean into the window of the passenger seat and pray to something that they will not dream.

-

Minnesota is a cold state. No bad weather today, but Kolya has to put on a scarf and wear an extra layer. 

Abigail has been looking horrible all morning, the bags under her eyes more like bruises. While Dr. Lecter drives, he tries to engage Will in small talk. Somehow, it works, and Kolya can tell even from the backseat that this surprises Will, who can’t normally have such conversations with ease. 

Eventually, (after the usual amount of inner turmoil), Kolya turns their face to watch a blur of trees and neighborhoods fly by, and takes Abigail’s hand in their own. 

They don’t know if this will be appreciated- she could pull away or become angry, but instead she holds on for a long time. 

The Hobbs residence is somewhat secluded, in a town not unlike Wolf Trap. Dr. Bloom meets them there, carrying a new silk scarf for Abigail in one hand and a latte in the other. 

“Good morning, Alana,” Hannibal says pleasantly, “ I’m glad you could join us.”

“Of course, I am Abigail’s psychiatrist, after all.” Here she gives Hannibal a pointed look, and the adults make their way up to the front door. 

Abigail doesn’t let go of their hand, and it doesn’t feel right to let go without her signal, so Kolya stands beside her as she stares at the graffiti on her house.  _ Cannibals,  _ it says, and Abigail shakes, from the cold or something else Kolya can’t tell, but they squeeze her hand in an attempt to ground her.

It works for a fleeting moment, but then Abigail shuts her eyes tightly, her face more pale than ever, and she drags Kolya over to the door so quickly that their glove almost pops off in her hand. 

Will looks at the two of them with something indescribable in his face. Though not unlike Kolya’s own feelings of adoration, it’s an even newer one, something akin to longing. Such a look surprises Kolya. 

“Are you feeling alright, Abigail?” Dr Bloom asks, her brow wrinkled with worry. From what Kolya could recall, she had been against the idea of Abigail coming back. 

_ “How do you think I feel?” _ Is what Kolya sees in her face.

Instead; “ It’s just a lot being back here,” Abigail wrenches the words through her clenched teeth, her eyes still screwed shut. She is afraid the very air of this place will permeate her soul. 

They walk through the front hallway, to the open area kitchen-slash-living room. The house has a rustic decor, cluttered with hunting trophies, photos of mountains and lakes, the odd knickknack. 

Abigail finally lets go of Kolya’s hand when she sits down on her living room rug,  _ I guess it’s not really her living room, anymore,  _ and Kolya steps back against a wall, removed. 

“My dad didn't seem delusional, he was a perfectionist.”

“Your dad left hardly any evidence.” Will, who is squatting beside Abigail, drums his fingers on his knee. He is very nervous, Kolya knows. 

“Is that why you let me come home? To find evidence?”

“It was one of many considerations,” Hannibal says, gently. 

Abigail shakes her head, and tries to put on a smile. It comes off as wobbly. “Are we gonna re-enact the crime? You be my dad, you be my mom, and you be the man on the phone,” When she pointed to him, Hannibal did not blink. 

“Abigail, we wanted you to come home to help you leave home  _ behind _ ,” Dr. Bloom says in a placating voice. 

“You're not gonna find any of those girls,” Will murmurs, darkly. 

From Kolya’s perspective, Hannibal gazes at Will in a sort of breathless wonder. Something insurmountable. 

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Bloom looks worried. 

“He would honour every part of them.” Only Kolya seems to notice the way Hannibal exhales at Will’s words, mesmerized.  _ Oh, wow.  _

“...He used to make plumbing putty out of elk's bones.” Abigail says.

“Whatever bones are left of those girls are probably holding pipes together,”

Hannibal cuts in, turning to Abigail. “Where did he make this putty?”

“At the cabin, I can show you tomorrow.” 

There comes a knock at the door. 

-

“So, uh, does that hurt?” Marissa Schur looks a lot like Abigail, though bolder in her makeup choices. 

Kolya trails behind the two girls on the sprawling yard of the Hobbs residence, Abigail occasionally glancing back at them. 

“Sometimes.” 

“Everybody on the block was on the news, and everyone at school,” Marissa scoffs, “Such whores.”

Abigail turns to look at Kolya with something like an apology in her eyes, and they walk on in an uneasy quiet until they reach the edge of the property by the woods and the creek bed.

“Did you talk to the news?” Abigail asks. 

“No,” Marissa says, and when Abigail doesn’t look up from the creek, “No, Abby! My mom doesn't want me talking to you, much less the news!” 

“Since when do you listen to her?”

“Well, clearly I don't, I'm talking to you right now,” Marissa grins weakly, “Everybody thinks you did it, you know.” 

“Do you think I did it?”

“I don't think you're the type. Then again, I didn't think your father was the murder-suicide type- I guess the hunting could've been a clue.”

“Mine or his?” She mumbles. 

“Both, now that you mention it. I don't think you did it.”

“I do.” Kolya jumps, and sees a scruffy looking man, somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five. He’s standing on the other side of the creek, scowling at Abigail. 

“This is private property.” Abigail says. 

“You were the bait, right? That's how it worked? You lure them back to daddy for dinner? How'd you trap my sister?” The man, more like a boy now that he speaks, advances. “Did you chat her up?” 

“Piss off!” Marissa yells. 

“Did you help your old man cut out my sister's lungs while she was-”

Kolya throws the apple they’ve been carrying around at this head, he doesn’t dodge in time, and it connects with his temple with a  _ thunk. _ He winces, “What the  _ hell.”  _

Kolya thinks he should feel lucky that it was a pink lady and not a rock. 

“What’s going on?” Will appears at the top of the lawn, Hannibal in tow. The boy starts and runs away, back the way he came.

“He said he was the brother of one of the girls,” Kolya relays, after running up to Will. They feel jittery with adrenaline, flexing their hands and gritting their teeth, and Will rubs their back. 

-

The decision is made that they will visit Garret Jacob Hobbs hunting cabin tomorrow. 

Alana and Jack do not permit Kolya to come along- they still don’t know what they will find. 

Hannibal had tried to argue that it would be good for Abigail.  _ I had been a good anchor for her today, after all.  _

There was nothing to be done about it. So, Kolya stayed with the babysitter that had been hired with the FBI’s money. 

Her house had a lot of knickknacks; from a  _ lot  _ of baseball bobbleheads, to cuckoo clocks. Linda was a nice woman, fifty-ish, and living alone in rural Minnesota with a little parakeet named scribble. 

She was jumpy, nervous that federal agents had knocked on her door and asked her to watch some kid for the day, but she was also apparently the nanny on speed dial on all the parents phones in the area, and that was that.

Kolya ate a sleeve of thin mints from Linda’s pantry and watched  _ Northern Exposure  _ reruns on her TV. She made them pasta, tried to get them to chat about true crime, and play a board game, but she gave up quickly. 

-

Will remains stressed, even when they go back home and he should’ve felt better ages ago. 

Most nights, he wakes up gasping for air and shaking, and Kolya is there. 

They don’t hear from Abigail. 

Today is Halloween, and Kolya had thought about trick-or-treating, but it always made them nervous. Still, they piece together a Sweeny Todd costume; partially because they liked the film, and partially because it can pass as an “eccentric” musical in Will’s eyes. 

He still doesn’t know of their affinity for horror films, and they’d like to keep it that way. Kolya knows that they only find the movies exciting- it’s harmless, really. 

But Will always worries, and they don’t need to burden him with more things to worry about. 

“I’ve got a Halloween pumpkin,” Will says when he returns from an errand run, and he does. It’s huge, orange and round. “Actually, I’ve got two Halloween pumpkins.” He smiles at them, and they giggle.

“We should invite Abigail and Hannibal over today,” Kolya says, because it’s barely ten in the morning and they miss both of them. “...For a Halloween movie marathon!” 

Will, still situating the pumpkin on the porch, raises a brow. “Here? I’m not sure…” 

“Please Dad? Just  _ one _ movie,” Kolya pleads, “I know you like them both. You know I wouldn’t ask otherwise, ‘cause I like them too.” 

Will finally relents to their best puppy eyes, though they can tell he’s not all that reluctant. Will and Kolya both know very well the need for a space- their space, this house. And, the need to have other people away from it. 

There can be exceptions of course, people who one feels comfortable enough with to have in their space, at least for small periods of time. 

Kolya and Will both dote on Abigail, and they are both drawn to Hannibal, though in different ways. The exceptions. 

-

Hannibal Lecter is having a rather dull day, which is normal as of late. 

He waves goodbye to a patient- Nicole is a lovely woman, but she’s far too impulsive to keep company with. She wishes him a happy Halloween, and he wants to shake his head at such a silly, capitalized holiday, even if it does have its charm. 

Hannibal has only just sat down to go over some notes when his telephone rings, and he is delighted to see the caller ID is the Graham’s landline. 

“Good Afternoon, Will.” 

He is answered by Will’s embarrassed, delectable voice, “Hello, Dr. Lecter. Kolya would like to invite you to watch  _ The Nightmare Before Christmas  _ with us at six o’clock tonight. Abigail will be there.” 

Hannibal smiles. 


End file.
